


Orange, Red, Yellow

by hutchabelle



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 14:13:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8059411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchabelle/pseuds/hutchabelle
Summary: As one of the most talented artists in Panem, Peeta Mellark’s excitement about viewing a Rothko special exhibit knows no bounds. Katniss Everdeen, his best friend, agrees to go with him, but her appreciation of abstract art leaves something to be desired—especially when she’d rather observe him and not the paintings he admires so much.





	

“What are you plans for the day, sweetheart?”

 

Katniss glanced up at her mom from her bowl of cereal and took in her mother’s weary face, tired eyes, and sloped shoulders. Her mom worked too hard, and years of bad luck, no breaks, and backbreaking effort showed on the older woman’s face.

 

“Well, I was planning to meet up with Peeta today. There’s a new art exhibit that he really wants to go to, but I can stay home if you need me. Maybe I could help out around here? Give you a rest or something?”

 

Her mother smiled gratefully but shook her head firmly. “No, that’s okay. Go have fun with your friend. It’ll be nice for you to do something cultural today instead of hanging around this dingy old place.”

 

“Are you sure, Mom? I could take care of Prim if you need me to, or maybe do some laundry? I feel bad leaving you here to do everything on your off day.”

 

“No arguments! I expect a report on the exhibit when you get back,” Mrs. Everdeen insisted. “Who’s the artist, anyway?”

 

“Some guy named Rothko, I think?” Katniss said with a shrug. “Peeta said he does abstract art. I’m not really sure what that means, but he’s really excited about seeing it.”

 

“Give Peeta my love, and have a good time. Let me know if you’ll be home for supper or not.”

 

An hour later, a knock sounded on the door, and Katniss opened it to find Peeta Mellark, her best friend for the past several years and the most talented artist in Panem High School. He was so good that he’d already received a full scholarship to the local liberal arts school that had one of the best painting programs in the region. As a junior, he’d applied for and was offered an internship at the local art museum where the Rothko exhibit was located. He’d been waiting for the special show to open for months.

 

Peeta’s eyes shone with excitement as he greeted her, and Katniss grinned when she saw he was practically vibrating as he waited for her to put on her shoes so they could go. He shifted impatiently from side to side and wiggled his nose.

 

“Eager, are we?” Katniss teased, and he blushed in embarrassment.

 

“Sorry. I’ve been waiting for this for a long time. Thanks for going with me. Nobody else would even consider it.” Peeta smiled at her, his white teeth flashing from between pink lips that curved upward with happiness.

 

“You’re welcome, but you’re going to have to explain what it is I’m supposed to look for while we’re there,” she said as they slipped into his beat up sedan and he cranked the engine.

 

“Rothko’s a twentieth century abstract painter who focuses on variations of color. His collections are usually multiple canvases of the same hue that fade into those next to it on the color wheel. For example, one of his most famous is the Orange and Yellow series. It’s mostly blocks of color of the two bleeding into each other. It’s going to be at this exhibit. He also painted a series of eight canvases for a chapel in Houston. They’re huge! Twenty to thirty feet tall and varying shades of purple. Amazing!”

 

Katniss nodded thoughtfully and tried to figure out how to ask her question without sounding ignorant. She genuinely wanted to understand Peeta’s fascination with the artist whose work they were going to view.

 

“So, he paints blocks of color?” she asked carefully.

 

He nodded eagerly, his hands flexing against the steering wheel, and explained, “Squares of color that meld into each other. Fascinating!”

 

“But Peeta,” she argued, “ _I_ can paint orange squares. How is that impressive?”

 

He laughed at her query but explained quickly when he saw hurt flash across her face. “Trust me, Kat. They’re remarkable. Really thought-provoking as well. Just wait.”

 

An hour later, Katniss wasn’t convinced. She wandered through the special exhibit and viewed the canvases on display. She couldn’t quite call them paintings because they didn’t make any sense to her at all. What Peeta had told her was true. The artist had covered canvases in shades of the same color, and she couldn’t understand why that was interesting or exciting.

 

“What are you thinking?” Peeta asked, his voice coming from behind her.

 

“You scared the hell out of me, Peeta!” she yelped and then blushed to the roots of her hair when a few of the other patrons glanced her way. “Where have you been anyway?” she asked in a hiss. “I’ve been wandering around for twenty minutes by myself.”

 

“My boss Effie was introducing me to some of the museum’s benefactors,” he explained quickly. “So what do you think? Be honest. I won’t think less of you if you don’t get the genius.”

 

She glanced at him and noticed the twinkle in his eye, but his face was so hopeful it glowed with excitement. She couldn’t quash his enthusiasm.

 

“Umm… It’s, uh, fascinating. The green ones are really impressive.”

 

“Aren’t they?” he crowed. “The way the exhibit is curated is really creative. The color meanings really add to the integrity of the exhibit.”

 

Leveling her gaze at him, she shrugged. “You just said a lot of words there. I know what about half of them mean.”

 

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to another room, one she hadn’t seen yet. “Look! This is what I’m talking about. This is his Orange and Yellow collection, and see this?” At her nod, he explained, “The exhibit is curated by color for two reasons. First, he painted his collections that way, but the museum wanted to place the paintings in context. This plaque explains the meanings behind each of the specific hues and helps clarifies which mood the paintings are supposed to evoke.”

 

“Oh,” she murmured. “That actually _is_ kind of interesting. Right now I just see random colors, and it doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“Let’s look at them together. How’s that?”

 

Peeta smiled at her, and something inside her pinged. His deep blue eyes were kind under the shock of wheat colored ringlets that fell across his forehead and coiled into riotous curls that covered the tops of his ears. His eyelashes glinted in the lights that highlighted each painting and cast shadows across his pink cheeks. He’d always been beautiful, but in that moment, Katniss fell irrevocably in love with him, especially his excitement, his patience, and his caring nature.

 

Seemingly unaware of her burgeoning feelings, he read from the plaque, “‘Orange is a color that radiates warmth and happiness. It combines the physical energy and stimulation of red with the cheerfulness of yellow.’ You know my favorite color is orange, Kat. I love sunsets and fall leaves and pumpkins. They make me happy and remind me of bonfires and hayrides.”

 

“We met on a hayride,” she said. “Do you remember that?”

 

“Of course I do! You were wearing a red checkered shirt and you had your hair back in a braid,” he reminisced. “That was back when your dad was alive and you didn’t mind sharing your voice with us. When you sang at the bonfire, I didn’t think you were real. It was too beautiful.”

 

She ducked her head at his compliment, but she couldn’t help the happiness that bloomed in her chest. The night he mentioned had been the beginning of their friendship, but it was after the death of her father that she’d gotten to know the real Peeta. He’d been her steady support, constantly calling and checking on her and offering his encouragement and optimism when she desperately needed them.

 

“What else does orange mean?” she asked, emotions pulsing through her at the memories.

 

“I like this part. ‘Orange offers emotional strength in difficult times. It helps us to bounce back from disappointments and despair, assisting in recovery from grief. It also represents a positive outlook on life.’” His jaw clenched as he swallowed, and she wondered how she hadn’t noticed how sharp his facial features were and the way his physical appearance reflected his inner strength.

 

“You did that for me, you know. I’ll never forget how you were there for me after Dad…didn’t come home.”

 

He squeezed her hand and intertwined his fingers with hers. “Always.”

 

“Want to show me some of the paintings and explain them to me?”

 

“Sure,” he agreed, eagerness back in his eyes. “Let’s look at this one. It’s the best at demonstrating what the colors really mean. A number of Rothko’s works are untitled, but this one is actually called _Orange, Red, Yellow_. See how the colors blend together with red as the base and yellow at the top? As the two colors merge, they form two blocks of orange. And remember what the color description said? Orange is warmth and happiness and a combination of red’s energy and yellow’s cheerfulness. How can you look at this image and not be inspired?”

 

Katniss wasn’t examining the painting, though. Instead, she was focused on him and the way his stance reflected his confidence when he spoke about art. Peeta wasn’t always so poised and self-assured. She knew how hard his home life was and how often he dodged his mother’s fists. Her heart often ached for him, but today, full of knowledge and confidence, he was radiant.

 

“Look at the brush strokes and how they combine the colors together. There aren’t hard edges. Everything is soft when you look closely, but there’s strength there.” He admired the painting for a few more minutes before he murmured. “Like you.”

 

“What?” she asked, shaken by his reference to her. “How am I like this painting?”

 

“Peeta! Can I borrow you for a minute?” Her friend’s head swiveled and landed on a flamboyant woman who Katniss knew was one of his bosses at the museum. It must be the Effie he referred to earlier.

 

“I need to go for a few minutes, Kat, but I have one painting I really want you to see. That one over there. There’s a bench in front of it. Will you be okay?”

 

She smiled at him and waved him away. “I’ll be fine.”

 

Peeta scurried across the room to meet people who looked to be some important patrons of the museum. She crossed to the painting he’d indicated and sank onto the bench to scrutinize it. It was similar to the one he’d explained to her—two blocks of orange with a strip of yellow in the center. It was true that Peeta’s favorite color was orange, but she always associated him with yellow. She had since he’d given her a bouquet of dandelions a few months after her father died. That moment was the first time she’d felt cheerful since her world had changed, and she couldn’t separate her friend from her first glimpse that life could still be good again, even after a devastating loss.

 

Her eyes blurred as she stared at the painting and reflected on how much Peeta had meant to her throughout her life. He was her best friend, but something seemed deeper today, more special, more intense, than simply a boy and girl in a platonic relationship. He meant more to her than that. He was part of her soul.

 

“Stunning,” she heard from behind her and turned to find Peeta standing a few feet away. His eyes were fixed on her in what she could only describe as a smolder.

 

“What’s stunning?”

 

“You. This painting. Your silhouette against my favorite color. My favorite person sharing my passion for art with me.” His voice was tender, full of emotion and laced with affection.

 

Swallowing hard, she conceded, “I think I know why Rothko’s paintings are so powerful.”

 

Peeta’s face lit up at her words. “Yeah? Why’s that?”

 

“A person’s reaction to them reflects the way that observer feels, and sometimes that’s a surprise.”

 

“What were you surprised by?” he asked in a whisper.

 

“You.”

 

“You’ve known me for forever. What could you possibly realize about me that you didn’t know before today?” He grinned self-deprecatingly, which only made her heart beat a little faster. 

 

Surrounded by his favorite color and feeling closer to him than ever, she swallowed hard and admitted, “I think I’m in love with you.”

 

******

The images in this story can be found [here](http://www.markrothko.org/images/paintings/orange-red-yellow.jpg), [here](http://c300221.r21.cf1.rackcdn.com/mark-rothko-1956-untitled-orange-on-yellow-1355203538_b.jpg), and [here](http://www.alux.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/04/Most.Expensive.Mark_.Rothko.Paintings.in_.the_.World_1.jpg). The meanings of colors can be found [here](http://www.empower-yourself-with-color-psychology.com/color-orange.html).


End file.
